


You're Hurt, Let me Heal You

by LittleLalaith



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Reconciliation, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27124535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLalaith/pseuds/LittleLalaith
Summary: When john finds Arthur injured on the edge of a swamp, he sets to work tending his wounds. Despite Arthur's objections, John takes care of him and they have a chance to discuss their past, addressing the mistakes that they made and the hurt that was cast on both sides.And then, John offers Arthur a solution that might just work for everyone.
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston/Arthur Morgan, John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 29





	You're Hurt, Let me Heal You

"Arthur!"

The voice was so distant, floating to him from somewhere in the darkness as Arthur fought his way back to consciousness. As much as he wanted to call out, to let the mysterious voice know where he was, it was impossible. Each ragged breath sparked fire through his stomach and chest, each effort to move was met with paralysing agony. That boar had gotten him worse that he'd realised.

"-thur!"

Disoriented, Arthur couldn't quite place the voice. It was familiar, but muffled through the pounding of blood in the outlaw's ears. 

A set of footsteps joined the voice, scuffing through the dirt as the voice grew louder. There was a loud rustling sound of fabric and undergrowth as someone (or something) hurried to his side. In the gloom of the setting sun, Arthur saw a figure leaning over him, hands pressing to his chest and shoulders; strong but gentle, hovering over his injuries with the uncertain pat-pat of the panicked. Through hazy vision, Arthur could see dark hair pressed beneath a black hat, but the features were hard to make out in the darkness, 

"Dutch?" Arthur managed, forcing the word over his blood-spittled lips.

"Dutch? Naw, you fool. It's me," the voice countered, and Arthur started to place the unique huskiness of his voice. 

John.

"Jesus, Arthur. What in the hell happened to you?" John asked, settling his weight at Arthur's side and starting to work on his wounds.

Arthur tried to protest, weakly lifting a hand and flapping at John's arms. "Leave me be. Don't want help from you."

He knew he was being foolish. He knew that he needed some serious medical attention if he was going to survive this, and John might just be his only chance. They were miles from the nearest town, and that town might not even have a half-qualified sawbones that they could rely on. It was John, or death. 

But that didn't stop Arthur's anger from broiling under the surface of his skin. Of all the people who could have found him out here, why did it have to be that traitor? 

"Jus' leave me. Same as you always do," Arthur gasped, cringing as pain washed over him.

"Would you quit your bellyaching? You're not gonna last the night unless you let me help you," John countered, starting to tear his own shirt into a rudimentary bandage. "Half-dead in the wastes and you still find the energy to be a little bitch."

Arthur groaned and let himself lie back, accepting the truth of the situation. John was his only hope... didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Even if John's bare torso slowly revealed itself to him as fabric was cut away and repurposed, acting as a better salve for his injuries than the bandaging could ever be. Angry or not, he was human. And John's body was something that never failed to pique his interest... Christ, why did John have to hold this power over him? 

As the bandages were tightened, Arthur whimpered and tried not to curl in on himself. The wounds were messy, jagged. So, each change of pressure drove fire through his abdomen and knocked the breath from him. John apologised quietly as he worked, stemming the worst of the bleeding and checking him over for less obvious injuries. Darkness swelled at the edges of Arthur vision and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back against the ground as John's strong hands worked their way around his body. 

He'd missed those hands, and Arthur couldn't tell which hurt worse: the pain of his injuries, or the weakness in his chest as he let John tread that familiar ground with his fingertips. 

"That should stop the worst of the bleeding, but you ain't going nowhere for a few days," John explained, his voice low and uncharacteristically soft. It was a pitch Arthur had heard only a handful of times, often after one of their liaisons out in the mountains, when they were spent and their tongues were loosened enough to explore the concept of love. But it never lasted. The moment passed and reality came crashing in, tearing John from his side and leaving him alone once more.

"Don't leave..."

"I ain't goin' nowhere, don't worry," John answered, uncapping his water skin and propping up Arthur's head so that he could drink. "You rest here a minute. I'll get a campfire going on that dry patch just there, and we'll get you up off the cold ground. Ok?"

Arthur nodded, closing his eyes again and focusing on his breathing. He had no idea how bad the injuries were, or whether he was likely to pull through this one... but he felt a little more grounded now that John had found him. He wasn't alone. He wasn't going to just kick it in the middle of a swamp, left to be eaten by gators. The thought made him shudder, and the shudder made his injuries sing anew. He groaned, taking a few deep breaths and trying to manage the pain. 

Distantly, he could hear John gathering some kindling and setting it up as a campfire just a few meters away. The light grew slowly, subtly creeping over the immediate area and giving Arthur a better look at John's features and chest. As much as the older outlaw had teased him for the scars that marred his features, he couldn't deny that they suited him - gave him a rugged quality that aged him, made him oddly handsome. Hell, maybe the blood loss was getting to him, but he liked how the shadows flickered over the uneven surface of his cheek, flickering over his chest. Like fingers... or tongues.

He watched as John fashioned a cot out of canvas and rope, securing it to a gathering of trees near the fire. He tested it, making sure it was secure before tying a second rope through the supports, just to be sure. Eventually, he came back over and crouched at Arthur's side. 

"Alright, this is gonna hurt like hell, but you'll be better off in the hammock," John explained, starting to work his hands under Arthur's arms and pulling him up slowly.

Arthur cried out as pain splintered through him, his stomach creasing in against the wound. John muttered gentle apologies, helping up up into a sitting position and giving him a moment to recover. Arthur was shaking now, his body weak and broken after the fight and the exposure. But John's hands were on his back and chest, supporting him, offering him a little comfort while he tried to remember how to breathe without whimpering. Eventually, the pain ebbed a little and he nodded.

"Ok... I'm ready. Help me up," Arthur murmured, raising his arms to brace them against John's shoulders. 

John worked quickly but carefully, hoisting Arthur up onto his feet and bracing the majority of his weight against his own chest and shoulder. He adjusted his grip, slipping an arm around his companion's waist as they made their way to the hammock in shaky, halting steps. It felt like a lifetime went by, time stretching out endlessly between each step. But at long last, Arthur could grip the side of the hammock and roll himself into the comfortable cradle of canvas. His injuries were throbbing, but the fire was warm and John was smoothing back his hair with a tender care that reminded Arthur of their nights together so many years ago. He could feel John's scratchy, calloused fingertips running over his forehead, into his hair. Arthur hummed softly, letting John know that it felt nice. 

"Better?" 

"Better," Arthur agreed, settling himself into the makeshift bed. 

"Alright, you want more water?" John asked, waiting for Arthur to nod before he helped him drink a little more. "What happened?"

"Boar..." 

John nodded, his eyes pinched in sympathy. He knew what boars could do - if he had to pick between fighting a bear or a boar, he'd pick a bear every time. With a soft sigh, John got up and started building the rest of the camp; putting up a tent for himself (and Arthur once he was feeling a little steadier on his feet and wasn't at risk of infection), securing his horse to a nearby tree and then scanning the landscape. 

"Boudicca run off?" John asked, and it took Arthur a moment to realise what he was asking. 

"Hm? Naw, Boudicca was lost when we left Blackwater," Arthur explained, taking his time with the words so that he could control his breathing, minimising the pain. "But Sparrow made a run for it. She might be nearby, I ain't sure."

With another nod, John gathered up some long grass for Old Boy and made sure the horse had access to water before he started to set up a pot over the fire. Silence stretched out between them; fragile at first, as though both of them were trying to break through and say something significant, but it eventually settled into something more comfortable. 

Arthur dozed, sleep pulling him under for a few minutes at a time, occasionally loosening its hold long enough for him to look over and watch John at the fireside. He was cooking something, watching it carefully as it stewed in the tin; Arthur could smell something floral... or 'earthy', but he couldn't quite place it. 

"Thought you was fixing a job up near Valentine. How did you find me all the way out here?" Arthur asked.

John started, despite Arthur's voice being so quiet - as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be. He looked up to Arthur, those puppy-dark eyes wide and uncertain as he tried to find the right answer. Arthur frowned a little, doubt and worry starting to creep into his chest. 

John had been running from the camp. 

Arthur would put money on it - a job had gone bad and John was abandoning ship again. Abandoning Jack. Abandoning Abigail.... Abandoning Arthur. 

"I was looking for you," John eventually said, his gaze averted. 

"Bull," Arthur scoffed, wincing as the action caused his wounds to flare up. 

"Laugh if you want, but it's true," John sulked, actually sulked. Even at this distance, Arthur could see the signature pout that had resided on John's lips since they were little more than kids. 

"Alright, I'll bite. Why were you looking for me?" Arthur humoured him, trying not to let himself hope for too much. John probably needed some kind of favour, or was looking to get out of trouble. But Arthur could hold out hope that, maybe, just maybe, John had missed him and searched him out so that they could steal a few nights of intimacy together after all these years. 

"It's... complicated," John started, scratching at the back of his neck. When he spoke again, it was uneven and hesitant. "I just... I've been talking to Abigail, about us..."

Arthur's heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest as he processed what John was telling him, panic rising in his throat and turning to bile. 

John had told Abigail. 

John had outted himself, and had dragged Arthur down with him in the process... and for what?! To make himself feel better? To clear himself of guilt or prove something to his wife? Arthur felt sick. If Abigail knew, then others would find out too. It was only a matter of time before Abigail would tell Tilly, who would tell Molly, who would tell Dutch. 

What would Dutch think?

"Hey, hey, it's ok," John soothed, moving to sit on the edge of the hammock and reaching for Arthur's hand, but the outlaw jerked his arm away and fixed him with a glare.

"For you, maybe! But that gang is all I have! Why did you tell her?" Arthur demanded.

"Because I can't just stand back and watch anymore, Arthur!"

Arthur blinked, looking up to John with a mixture of confusion and fear. Stand back and watch what? Him? His anger sizzled out, too tired to last long and dampened by his confusion. "Tell it plain, I'm too tired for games."

"She saw me watching you ,and noticed the way I sometimes get caught up talking about you after we work a job together, or the stories I sometimes tell about us when we were younger. She asked me, straight out, whether you and me was ever more than friends. So... I told her, under the promise that she wouldn't say nothing to anyone else at camp."

"What did she say?" Arthur asked, his throat dry and his heart still tripping nervously in his chest. 

"She said that if she'd known, she'd have done something about it sooner," John answered, then seemed to realise how that sounded. "Not like... I mean..."

John sighed and looked at his own hands as they wound in the fabric of the canvas; he was nervous too, but not because of Abigail... he was scared of Arthur. And that thought hurt the older outlaw more than he cared to admit. 

"She said that she ain't never been one to judge a person on how many people, or how many kinds of people a person might have laid down with. With her history an' all," John started, still refusing to meet Arthur's eye. "And she said that she ain't against sharin', neither."

Sharing? As in, Abigail didn't mind sharing her husband with Arthur? That didn't sound right - even to a man who'd broken more laws than he'd ever abided by. He didn't understand why she would be happy to let someone else into their marriage, especially when John had been less than committed to her in the past. Wasn't she worried that Arthur would just take John away from her? And what about Jack?

Arthur took his time processing this new information, and John let him. He just sat at Arthur's side, watching him with hopeful eyes as his former lover tried to understand how this would play out. It was all well and good to say that Abigail didn't mind, but Arthur wasn't even sure if this was what he wanted. He had waited for John, for season upon season... and as much as he wanted the feral little wildling at his side, he wasn't sure he could trust him again. So, whether Abigail as happy to let Arthur in or not, there was another issue to address.

"You left me, twice."

John winced and Arthur could have sworn that he could see tears starting to well up in those deep brown eyes. He had loved John, and he still did... despite his efforts to kick that part of him to the curbside. Because John had chosen Abigail - he had gotten scared of what people might think of them, and he had hidden behind his attraction for Abigail instead of trusting in Arthur. He had left him alone, had forced him to watch as Abigail got to experience all of the things he would never have with John. Marriage, a family, the ability to kiss him without fear, to hold his hand in more civilized parts of the world. And it hurt. 

Then, when the marriage felt too much like a cage, and when little Jack was barely born, John had left them too. He had turned tail and left his family behind, seeking out a life of little consequence in the great wastes of America. That had hurt even more than the first time, because he wasn't just leaving Arthur due to some stupid notion of what was morally right or devious... he was leaving because he didn't value them enough to weather out the storm. Even when he came back, Arthur found it hard to forgive him. He had chosen the wider world and all its poisons, instead of accepting the love of the people he had fooled into caring for him. 

After a long while, John nodded and ran a hand through his own hair. It looked like he had made some kind of decision about something, and it angered Arthur that he was doing this again. That he was making a decision for the two of them instead of talking it out like he ought. John stood and made to turn back towards the fire, but Arthur grabbed his wrist firmly.

"And that's it? You're just gonna walk off? You can't keep ducking out of this John, you can't just drop that kind of information on someone and leave them to stew in it without talking it through," Arthur chided, but he could feel John's hand shaking slightly in his grip. He loosened his grasp and tried to soften his tone, but it took work. Work that he didn't rightly owe John in the first place. "Do you want me or not?"

John didn't answer for a long moment, didn't even look at Arthur. He was scared, and Arthur didn't have the slightest idea as to why. 

"Let me get this lotion off the heat, or it'll be no good," John said at last, and Arthur sighed 

He had always been this way. Like a damn mongoose, turning and twisting his way through any foxhole he might find himself in. The only time Arthur had been able to get a sincere word out of him was after they'd both exhausted themselves under the cover of darkness and they could share a moment of intimacy from the safety of their shared tent. But it shouldn't be that way. He shouldn't have to screw John senseless to get an honest scrap of affection from him. 

He wondered if John was the same with Abigail. Whether he had ever given Jack a genuine word of encouragement. 

John took the lotion from the fire and stirred something in before bringing it over to the hammock. He was sulking again, his gaze never lifting to meet Arthur's and his hands working anxiously at the tonic he'd crafted up. Hesitantly, he took a seat on the edge of the hammock again and Arthur hated that his traitorous hands wanted to reach out and touch him; to explore the way his body had changed over the years they had been apart, to map every new scar and mole to memory. Damn soft heart of his.

"I'm gonna wash your wounds out with this; it'll sting like a bitch but it'll keep the infection out," John explained, as though their conversation had never happened. But Arthur knew that it was useless to try and back him into a corner - John was dangerous when he was trapped, even if it was just an emotional corner. So, he lay back and allowed John to clean out his wounds without another word. He let the silence sit heavy between them until John felt the need to either break it, or break under it. "It's Echinacea... Hosea showed me how to use it as a salve. Mixed with oregano, it makes a pretty powerful anti-infection tonic."

Arthur didn't warrant the weak-worded offering with a response. He didn't care whether John was using Echinacea or Deadly Nightshade. At this point in time, he might even have preferred the latter. Anything other than this fresh new torment that John had decided to throw his way. It was all word games and baited honey-like promises. 'Come back to camp and you can be mine' - only to get back to camp and find out Abigail had said no such thing, or John had misunderstood. He wouldn't put it past the idiot.

"Look, you can be mad all you want, Arthur. But I'm trying my best," John suddenly exclaimed and Arthur couldn't stop himself from raising a brow. 

"Trying your best to what? Get on my last damn nerve?" 

"It ain't easy for me, Arthur, and you know it!" John growled, the same teeth that had bitten into Arthur's shoulder during their more passionate nights were now biting into his emotions too. But he steadied himself and focused on the salve, working the words over in his mind the way they had been taught to do when Hosea showed them how to read. Arthur wished emotions could be read the same way, maybe then he'd understand why John led him on and dropped him so often. "I love you, ok? I always loved you and that never went away. But the fear got too big for me, Arthur... and I... I ran away and I'm sorry. I should have stayed, I should have grown a damn spine and just..."

His voice was shaking and Arthur could see the undeniable shine of tears in his eyes now, could hear the way he was forcing his voice to stay level. Maybe he had been too hard on John... He had come to find him, had no doubt saved his damn life, and had offered him the thing he had dreamed of more times than he could count. And he'd thrown it back in John's face before giving him space to sound out the feelings that he found so hard to express.

"I thought the world revolved around you," Arthur admitted quietly. "I'd have given everything to be by your side and you knew it. All those 'hunting trips' we took, all the jobs we worked together. Hell, I would've turned my back on Dutch and the whole gang if you asked me to. But you didn't ask, John. You led me along like a damn fool and left me to rot when your heart turned."

"It didn't turn, Arthur. It just... Micah was starting to make comments, started insinuating things to Dutch, and I got scared that he'd tail us or something. And then Abigail grew sweet on me and... Shit, it all went too fast."

Arthur could feel his anger dying away completely, replaced by sympathy, and maybe a little more hope than he had previously allowed himself. John loved him, he had said it plain. But it came with caveats and pitfalls that neither of them knew how to navigate. Arthur reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. 

"So, let me get this straight. You want to go back to what we had before, with the trips away from camp and... everything else we did on those trips. But you would still be married to Abigail and would be intimate with her too?" Arthur asked, just needing to understand how all of this would work. 

"Yeah, that about sums it up. But only if you're ok with that," John answered, linking their fingers. "I know it sounds selfish or greedy or... I don't know. But I love you both, and I can't just let go of either of you like that. I can't..."

"I know," Arthur assured him. "Here... lie beside me a while. I want to make sure you don't take off running before we can talk this out."

Thankfully, John picked up on the teasing and rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes before carefully settling his weight at Arthur's side. He was careful not to hurt him, keeping his weight firmly against the canvas, but daring to run an arm around Arthur's chest and holding him close. Arthur took a moment to enjoy the feel of him, so close at his side. His. He'd missed the way John's body felt against his own, the warmth of him. 

"I'm worried that someone's gonna stick there nose in a little too far and you're gonna panic. I can't let myself open up to you like that again if you're gonna drop me at the first sign of trouble," Arthur explained.

John opened his mouth to protest but shut it, knowing that the criticism was fair. He'd hurt Arthur, twice, and it took a lot of trust to do something like this. "I'm tryna be better..."

"What happens if someone finds out, John?" 

The scarred, puppy-eyed gunslinger took a moment to play the scenario out in his mind, considering their options. Arthur used the time to admire him up close - the strong angle of his jaw, the heaviness of his brow, the peculiar curve of his lips. He wanted to kiss him, more than ever now that the option was open for him, just waiting to be accepted. But he needed reassurance that this time would be different. 

"We'd pack up and haul out, I guess. Me, you, Abigail and Jack. Just move on out somewhere and try to make a life of our own," John reasoned, and Arthur had to admit that it was a good Plan B. Between the three of them, they might be able to get by on an honest dollar. 

"And what about Jack? What will you tell him?" 

"Me and Abigail already talked about that. She asked whether you'd want to be called his 'daddy' too, but there's no pressure if you don't want that. Either you can co-parent with us, or we'll be Jack's parents and we'll tell him that you're part of our marriage now too. He don't need to know the ins and outs."

"I certainly hope not," Arthur smirked, and John cracked his first smile since he'd arrived. 

"Well?"

Arthur sighed softly, breathing in the night air and trying to consider his options. With Abigail in the picture, John might be more settled and grounded. Less prone to taking flight whenever he got spooked. And Arthur didn't mind sharing John, if that was what it took. He understood John's feelings for his wife, knew they were sincere, and he couldn't take that from him. This way, they all got what they wanted and could support each other when things inevitably turned sour. 

"I'll do my bit to raise Jack, but he can stick to calling me Arthur," he said at last, realising that he had committed himself to this thing now. Come hell or high water, he was going to be a part of this family.

The thought warmed him, bringing a smile to his features that only grew and brightened when John met his gaze, wonder and joy bringing life back to his features.

"So..." John prompted, wanting to here him say it outloud. 

"So, you'd best get me fit and well as soon as you can. Else I ain't gonna be no good to you as a lover," Arthur winked, daring to lean in and kiss John's temple. 

John grinned and leaned up to meet his lips with his own, kissing him sweetly. Goddamn, Arthur had missed this. The taste of him, the scratch of his stubble. It felt like home, like comfort and warmth, like love. Breaking away, Arthur cupped John's cheek and kept him close.

"I love you, John. More than any man with a brain ought to," Arthur smiled.

"I love you too, Arthur. And this time, I meant to prove it."

Yeah, well, they would see about that. But for now, Arthur was content to hold his lover in his arms and hope that this time would work out better.


End file.
